So they left Zahiya’s home and rode towards the bridge,
where the Qadi took his leave. But Tahar had hardly begun to relish being alone
again to dream of Zahiya when a voice hailed him. It was the Qadi’s son.
“Tahar,” he
said eagerly, “please tell me everything about that woman my father alluded
to!”
“The more the
merrier!” Tahar thought, bursting into laughter. But he sat down under a tree
by the riverbank and told the Qadi’s son about Shama.
“I want to
marry that woman!” the Qadi’s son said suddenly. “Tell me, how do you get there?”
“She’s so far
away!” said Tahar amidst laughter. “But let me tell you something. Why don’t
you go along with me to Mogador? I’ll show you an old man there. He’s a regragi
like us. You know we regraga are blessed with answerable prayers.”
“That’s true
indeed!” said the Qadi’s son. “But where do I come in?”
“I said I’d
take you to an old man in Mogador. Well, that man prayed for me and the prayer
seems to have been answered. Why don’t you go and ask him to pray for you too?”
“I shall go!
But please don’t tell my father!”
Tahar laughed
again and again as he spoke. At one point he even split his sides with
laughter. But behind his seeming joviality hid a feeling of envy.
That feeling stayed with him even when
he got back home. “There’s nothing special about him that would make me see him
as Shama’s husband,” he thought, feeling envy pricking his heart again. “Then
why don’t you marry her yourself if he doesn’t deserve her?”
Three days later Tahar and the Qadi’s
son were in Mogador. Each booked a separate room at the same funduq. Then Tahar
took the Qadi’s son to the place where he had last seen Âmmy Abderrahman. But
they did not find him there. So they roamed the labyrinth alleys till they got
to the alley where lived the old man. “This is his home,” Tahar whispered to
the Qadi’s son as they went past a wooden door, blue as all other doors. “I am
sorry,” Tahar went on, “but I should not appear with you until you have met
with him. I think it’s much more difficult to get a meeting with this man than
gain an audience with a prince!”
“But I’ll go
only if you come with me!”
“I’m sorry I
can’t.”
“So I’ll leave
you now. See you later!”
Tahar then
left the Qadi’s son and went to mosque. He performed his ablutions and took a
Koran from a shelf and began to read in a low voice. “Here I am out of work,”
he thought as he read. “I can’t go back to H’sein’s shop. H’sein must have told
Smaïl. Where should I go then? Should I go to the Tailors of the Mellah? No, I
should wait. I should meet Smaïl first. Smaïl used to be here on Thursdays, and
tomorrow will be Thursday.”
But Smaïl
turned away from him when their eyes met for a moment in that same mosque.
Tahar had been sitting at the back of the mosque when Smaïl entered. But
instead of going to Smaïl, Tahar picked up his shoes and slunk out of the
mosque and ran to the funduq, where he thought he could find the Qadi’s son.
And he did find him there.
“Please, Ali!”
Tahar panted out. “Come along quick!”
“What’s the
matter?”
“Well, the
young chap who introduced me to the old man and the master tailor is at mosque
right now.”
“Really?”
Ali leapt to
his feet, his face aglow with happiness.
“But wait a
moment! Ali! Listen to me! You can speak to him about the old man later on. But
now my problem is pressing. You know, I’m at fault with this man because I was
unkind to the master tailor. Please come along and speak to him about this
first. Tell him that I am sorry. Please speak to him on my behalf. Tell him
anything! I just want to be on speaking terms with him again.”
“What about
me?”
“Ali! Make
haste! Let’s go before he leaves the mosque!”
Tahar stayed
aloof while Ali put out his powers of persuasion to placate Smaïl, but even
after reconciliation Smaïl seemed to have much more left to say. They were
gazing out to sea from the top walkway of the Skala when Smaïl said, without
glancing at Tahar:
“Ingratitude
is a crime against the whole society, because if you aren’t grateful you’ll
neither pay the favour back nor forward, and so you may petrify some good
people’s hearts and then other people –who could otherwise be thankful– might
suffer from that change.”
“I’m sorry,”
said Tahar, thinking of Shama. “You know what, I nearly lost my life hadn’t a
woman saved me. She spoke to a prince’s wife about me.” Smaïl pricked up his
ears as Tahar went on, “I just don’t know how I could pay that woman back. I
wish I could find her a suitable husband that would make her happy.”
“I for one am
ready to marry her and make her happy!” said Ali.
“I think she
would refuse you,” said Tahar distantly.
“Why?”
“Because she’s
a woman of great beauty.”
“Where did you
see her?” said Smaïl.
“Well, I have
to tell you a story, then!”
“Right! Tell
me your story! I am all ears!”
Tahar began
his story, sitting on one of the cannons pointed towards the sea, but then
Smaïl asked him and Ali to tea in his home.
Tahar finished
his story on the way to Smaïl’s home.
“Believe it or
not, I know that prince!” said Smaïl suddenly.
“How so?” said
Tahar in surprise.
“Well, last
time I told you –didn’t I? – that I worked as a teacher for a family outside
the town. The head of that family is the brother of the Princess you met in
Âbda, see? I know her personally!”
“I just can’t
believe that!” said Tahar.
“What is unbelievable
to me,” said Smaïl, “is that the Prince did not employ you as a tailor in his
palace.”
“To tell you
the truth, Smaïl, I wish you could do me a favour even now.”
“Yes?”
“Please see if
the Prince can lend me some money to open up a tailor’s shop in Mogador.”
“Well, I can’t
speak to the Prince in person about something like this. But I’ll try with the
Princess, right?”
“Thanks
awfully!”
“What about
me?” said Ali.
“You?” said
Smaïl, raising his eyebrows. “What do you want?”
“I want somebody
to pray for me. Could you find me one?”
“He means
someone like Âmmy Abderrahman,” said Tahar with a smile.
“Âmmy
Abderrahman is ill,” said Smaïl with a sigh.
“He is ill?”
said Tahar, showing sympathy. “Can we see him?”
“We’ll go and
see him when we’ve had tea.”
Âmmy
Abderrahman was not that ill when they saw him. He was surprisingly fit. But he
just refused to pray for anybody. To
Tahar he said:
“Knowledge is
not like a job. You see, you’ve been able to work as a tailor in a matter of months.
You can’t acquire knowledge in a matter of months. Ask Smaïl, who has now
become a writer. It took him years and years before he became a teacher. And
you are still young. You have plenty of time. You have enough money. So all you
need is go to a school or hire a teacher or read books at home. You’ve got to
rely on yourself, then you can pray to God yourself.”
And to Ali he
said:
“Your father
is a qadi, isn’t he? He knows you better than I. If your father cannot pray for
you, how could I?”
Having heard that, Ali made no bones about it.
“It seems that
Âmmy Aberrahmane is tired,” he said, winking at Tahar. “We must leave.”
“You’re
right,” said Tahar and Smaïl in unison, feeling Ali’s sudden anguish.
“What are you
so upset about?” said Tahar once they got out of the old man’s home. “If this
man refused to pray for you, then we can go straight away to the Zaouia
Regraga, where you could probably find a good man willing to pray for you.”
“I’ll go back
home,” said Ali. “I’ll pray for myself!”
“Alright!”
said Tahar. “Tomorrow morning I’ll go back with you!”
“Don’t leave
Mogador before you apologize to H’sein!” said
Smaïl, resting his hand on Tahar’s shoulder.
“Of course!”
said Tahar. “Let’s go to him now!”
“I’m sorry I
can’t go with you,” said Ali.
Tahar
apologized to H’sein that night and dined in Smaïl’s, and in the morning he was
riding back home.
As soon as he arrived he went to the
mosque. He asked the Imam whether he could teach him. “I can teach you whatever
you please wherever you like whenever you wish,” said the Imam, peeping at
Tahar’s pocket. “Great! I want you to teach me here and now how to write a
letter,” replied Tahar, dipping his hand into his pocket. “Gladly!” said the
Imam, his face beaming with joy.
The next afternoon Tahar and the Imam
were together again, sitting in the shade of a tree by the mosque, when Tahar
heard the lovely voice of Âmmy Dawud. “Wait a moment!” said Tahar, rising to his feet. “Where are you
going?” said the Imam.
“I’m just
going to have a few words with Âmmy Dawud and
I’ll be back to finish the lesson.”
“Let Âmmy
Dawud come to you! Why are you running to him?”
But Tahar ran
to Âmmy Dawud, who took him in his arms and spoke to him like an affectionate
father.
“I was so sad
to learn that you had fallen into the grip of that qaïd’s son,” he said. “When
your father asked me about you I didn’t hesitate to tell him the truth. I was
convinced you would be somewhere around Safi. And I always inquired after you. How are you now? What do you do?”
“I am fine.
Thanks, Âmmy Dawud. You know what– I was longing to see you again!”
“You too!
Look, when you start working again, I’ll buy items from you. To tell you the
truth, I miss dresses of your making!”
“I’ll make
other dresses, Âmmy Dawud. But not now and not here.”
“When and
where then?”
“Soon, Insha
Allah. In Mogador!”
“In Mogador?”
“Yes, why not?
Someone’s going to lend me some money to open up a shop in Mogador. Will you
help me?”
“Certainly! Don’t
you know that most Mogador tailors are cousins of mine and are in the Mellah?”
“Thank you!
Now I’m sorry I have to leave. You know, the Imam has started teaching me
things!”
“Oh, great!
Good luck to you!”
Tahar spent
the rest of that day with the Imam, and the next morning he held his breath as
his mother headed for the riverbank. “I want to see this girl with my own
eyes,” she said. Tahar hid in a small olive grove and watched as his mother
rode slowly along the riverbank towards the bridge. Nearly an hour later her
white donkey reappeared on the other side of the river, coming east towards
Zahiya’s home. Then Tahar went to the mosque, where the Imam was waiting
patiently. The Imam began another lesson while Tahar started waiting for his
mother’s return.
His mother returned in the early
afternoon, and said, “Isn’t she a dream? Only a blessed man could marry her!
May God preserve me until the day I see her in your home!” “Amen!” said Tahar,
his face aglow with pleasure.
That night he spent a full hour playing
on the utar in the berraka, to his fellow youths’ delight. He also played for
them in the next days under that famed terebinth-tree by the riverbank. And he
sang only songs he used to sing for Zina, although Zina was now married (and perhaps
pregnant) and her husband Âouissa was among the listeners. And while he sang
those songs, Tahar had none in mind but Zahiya.
Ali, the Qadi’s son, came one fine
evening and found Tahar singing to the boys under the terebinth-tree. So he sat
down and waited, his head bowed in thought, until the boys dispersed. Then he
took Tahar aside, and said, “I’m just back from Âbda. I saw Shama!” Tahar went
green with envy, but he quickly burst out laughing and cracked jokes so that
the envy could not show on his face. Ali did not laugh. He only gave a faint
smile and waited until Tahar had run dry of jokes, then said:
“I want to go
to that old man in Mogador.”
“You mean Âmmy
Abderrahman?”
“Yes.”
“When are you
going?”
“Now.”
Tahar was
startled.
“Are you sure
you’re going now?”
“Yes.”
“But it is
getting dark. Why don’t you wait until tomorrow morning?”
“I want to go
now.”
“Why?”
“Because I
can’t wait.”
“Right. Do you
want me to go with you?”
“Yes.”
The next hour
found Tahar and Ali on the way to Mogador. On their first halt, Tahar was
seized with fear. Ali was now saying some very odd things. He spoke of Shama as
“my wife Shama”. And as he spoke his face clouded and then cleared and then
clouded again.
As soon as they arrived at Mogador,
Tahar said:
“Here we are
at last! What do you want now, Ali?”
“I want to see
Âmmy Abderrahman.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Well, just
have a rest at the funduq. I’ll bring Âmmy Abderrahman to you, right?”
And so Tahar
left Ali at the funduq and went from place to place till he found Âmmy
Abderrahman sitting in a vegetable stall in the souk. And he explained to Âmmy
Abderrahman that Ali’s mind was going. “For God’s sake come along and pray for
him!” said Tahar desperately, careless of passers-by. “Please, Âmmy
Abderrahman, do something, I entreat you. Just a few words! Let him hear them
from your mouth! Please help me bring him to his senses!” And Tahar went on
with his beseeching until Âmmy Abderrahman sighed, and said, “Right! Tell him
to go to mosque and attend all prayers and read the Koran day and night. And
when Smaïl is back this Thursday we’ll meet all of us and we’ll pray together
for your friend, right?”
Tahar leapt for joy and ran to the
funduq to announce the good news to Ali, whose eyes sparkled suddenly.
At night Tahar thought more of Shama
than Zahiya. “Stop saying he doesn’t deserve her!” he rebuked himself. “Yes,
she’s beautiful. But she was ready to marry Balîd, wasn’t she? That’s what Sêed said, anyway. Who’s better:
Ali or Balîd? That’s just envy, Tahar!
Say: ‘I seek refuge with God from accursed Satan!’ and let me sleep, please!”
And so, for three long days, Tahar and
Ali went to mosque together and prayed together and read the Koran together and
returned to the funduq together and ate together, but at night each kept
himself to himself. Like Ali, Tahar was on pins and needles. Both waited for
Smaïl’s return on Thursday.
Smaïl came back and asked everybody to
dinner. “I’ve got news for you,” he said to Tahar on greeting him. But he said
no more, nor did Tahar ask him anything. At dinner time they dined on baddaz
and prayed for Ali. Then Smaïl asked Tahar to spend the rest of the evening at
his house. And so Tahar waited impatiently for the others to leave.
They left, and Tahar and Ali were alone
together.
“What news did
you bring?” said Tahar hesitantly.
“Calm down!
The news is that the Prince will be here within the next eight days.”
“Can you help
me then?”
“Well, I said
I’d speak to the Princess. Isn’t that enough?”
“That’s more
than enough. Thank you!”
“Tahar, let me
tell you something. Royal people are very dangerous and untrustworthy, however
kind-hearted they might be. Because it only takes one denunciation or even the
smallest thing to turn them against you. I know that this particular prince is
an extraordinarily good man. He’s a religious man. And he’s strikingly humble.
But you never know. If you are dreaming of working in his palace forever, then
it’s high time you gave up that dream. But if he did ask you to work in his
palace don’t say no. He won’t take no for an answer. Just say yes and go and
work in his palace and then watch your tongue and keep your eyes down and keep
praying to God to let you out of the palace once you feel you’re well-off.”
And Smaïl
started telling Tahar tales about royalty; he told him tales in gruesome
detail, tales so horrible that Tahar started shivering. And those tales sounded
so plausible that Tahar wondered whether he should not forget all about the
Prince and his money.
And so when he went to bed that night
Tahar just saw nightmare after nightmare.
And yet he stayed there in Mogador
until Smaïl brought him the good news.
“The Prince
wants to see you tomorrow afternoon,” he said with a smile. “He’ll be in one of
his farms, about half a day’s ride from here. You’ll go alone. You’ll find me
there because the man I work for will be there too. So be brave and go and be
respectful! And don’t be talkative even if you have too much to say!”
Smaïl then
gave Tahar all the details of the way and the place, then said:
“Before I
leave, let me just add this. Don’t give your mount anything to eat or drink
this afternoon! Mind what I say! Starve it until you get back lest it should
put its foot in it!”
Tahar took the
hint and smiled blissfully.
The next afternoon Tahar was at the
edge of the wood along which lay the Prince’s farm, in the center of which
stood a large house surrounded by almond trees. The house was larger than any
Tahar had ever seen and it was at the farm’s main entrance, where ended a long
shadowy pathway that ran between fields full of sheep and goats and others
covered with olive-trees and vines. Tahar could also see flights of pigeons
hovering around. The more Tahar made sure this was the Prince’s farm the more
he hesitated to head for the house. But as in Balîd’s douar, it only took him
one more effort of courage to move forward. He went down the path and walked
on, and his horse walked behind him. And where Tahar stopped the horse stopped,
too. Tahar glanced round to see whether the horse had put its foot in it. “He
didn’t,” Tahar reassured himself. But the horse neighed, and in no time a
servant appeared and asked Tahar who he was and what he was doing there. “I am
Tahar ben Ahmed Erregragi,” said Tahar,
dripping with sweat. “His Highness the Prince has sent for me.”
“Right,” said
the servant. “Wait here! I’ll take your horse into the stable.”
And that was what he did, leaving Tahar
standing in the doorway. “I’ve seen no guards, no one’s stopped me,” Tahar
thought, peeping at the pigeons. “Is there a prince’s home without guards?
There’s calm and peace here. This is strange, really.”
But only a moment later there was a lot
of noise. The servant returned and bowed Tahar in. Tahar looked down as he
followed the servant across the courtyard but he could feel the presence of
dozens of men in uniform.
Tahar was then taken into a large room
at the back of which sat the Prince with no one else but Smaïl. Smaïl was
sitting on the right of the Prince, and he smiled as he saw Tahar come in and
kiss the Prince's hand.
"You're
welcome, Tahar!" said the Prince, waving to him to take the chair opposite
Smaïl. "We were at prayer when you arrived. How are you?"
"I am
fine, nâamass. God bless the Prince!"
"How did
your ladylove find the dresses?"
"She was
happy with Your generous gift. Thank you, nâamass!"
"Have you
got married yet?"
"Not yet,
nâamass."
"Why?"
"I need
money, nâamass."
"How
much?"
"I need a
loan, nâamass."
"What
for?"
"I would
like to open up a tailor's shop, nâamass."
"I'll see
what to do about that," said the Prince, turning to Smaïl. Smaïl smiled again. Oh, how beautiful
he was! No, that was not beauty! Had Tahar not seen him before to know what he
was like? Now it seemed as if Tahar had indeed seen him for the first time
ever. Now he was not just a handsome man. He not only had handsome eyes, but
everything in him was beautiful. The Prince seemed to have been in a hurry to
throw those few words to Tahar so that he could have all the time to speak to
Smaïl. And as Smaïl spoke his eyes filled the room with an uncanny power as if
he were casting a spell on the Prince. And the Prince spoke to him with such
respect that had they been sitting in a field outside and not in this room you
could hardly tell the Prince from Smaïl. For Smaïl was no less tidy than the
Prince. Tahar was bewitched. "This is the man who should marry
Shama!" he thought. "I know he's got his own wife. But this is the
man I would love to see with Shama living together as husband and wife,
completely wrapped up in each other!" And yet Tahar, for all his beauty,
just could not help feeling such a devouring envy that his teeth began to
chatter suddenly. He got the feeling that his was the face of a woman, not a
man. If only you had been there to see him! Smaïl was a full moon with a halo.
And he was a man still. His staidness could only be a man's. His words sounded
like those the Writer read from the book. And he had such a pleasant speaking
voice that would shame singers into silence. "It's certainly books that
made him such a taking man!" Tahar thought sadly. "But how many books
do I have to read before I could speak and look like him?"
But then the Prince cast a wandering glance at Tahar,
and said:
"What
kind of man is your friend Tahar?"
"He is a
nice kind of person, nâamass," Smaïl replied with a gulp.
"Did he
tell you his story?"
"Yes,
nâamass."
"What did
he tell you, for example?"
"Well,
nâamass, he looks a bit of an adventurous man. He is a hardworking man. He is
successful."
"Hardworking maybe, but successful? I don't know. You know what,
behind every human achievement I perceive the might of Almighty God."
"That's
true, nâamass!"
"What
else do you know about him?"
"He is a
shy person, nâamass."
"You
think so? Well, he's not as green as he looks. He's not shy with women at all,
I can tell you. Chaps like him are dangerous people. Beware of them if they
enter your home. But I'm going to take the venom out of him! What else can you
tell me about him?"
"Well,
nâamass, he would like to open up a shop in Mogador and he needs a loan."
"I'll
give him a loan, no problem. But before I give him the loan, I want him to
bring me a jeweller from where he lives."
Tahar's mind
went to his cousin Tweher, but his heart was beating so fast he could hardly
speak.
"Do you
know of a good jeweller?" said the Prince, looking fixedly at Tahar.
"Y–e–s,
nâamass," Tahar stuttered.
"So let
me see him and I'll lend you the money to open up a shop in Mogador,
right?"
"Right,
nâamass!"
"I'll
stay here until you bring him to me. You can leave now."
"God
bless the Prince!"
Smaïl showed
Tahar out and wished him good luck.
Back to the village, Tahar went
straight to his uncle's. He did not find Tweher there. He waited for him.
"Could he be luckier than me?" Tahar thought as he waited. "Will
he go straight to the palace? Why not? Isn't he a good jeweller? Isn't he a
likeable person? But– like this? Overnight? Without experiencing what I went
through? He must be lucky, then! No, I shall tell him! I shall take him to the
Prince. I have no choice."
Tweher came and found Tahar waiting for
him.
"Tweher," said Tahar in an unsteady voice, "a prince is
waiting for you. Keep it under your hat! Prepare yourself and come along with
me! Be quick about it!"
"Are you
serious?"
"I'm
quite serious. Go and titivate yourself and don't tell anybody where we're
going."
"But just
tell me why the Prince wants me!"
"The
Prince wants a jeweller, and you are a jeweller, aren't you?"
"I see!
Alright! Wait a moment!"
And Tahar
waited patiently while Tweher spruced himself up and groomed and harnessed his
horse, and then both set out for the Prince's farm.
The Prince
received them as soon as they arrived.
“Have you
brought any samples of the jewels you’ve made recently?” said the Prince.
“Yes,
nâamass!” said Tweher demurely. “Here you are, nâamass!”
Tahar felt a
twinge of pain in his heart as the Prince examined the jewels, then looked up
at Tweher and said:
“How much do
these jewels cost?”
“I would sell
them for two hundred and fifty dinars, nâamass.”
The Prince
then called in a servant, and said:
“Give this man
five hundred dinars and show him out. Tahar, you too can go. Thank you!”
Tahar was
stunned. A servant led him and Tweher out of the Prince’s presence.
Tweher faced
him as soon as they got out of the Prince’s farm.
“What are you
going to do now?” Tahar mumbled, sensing something strange about Tweher’s look.
“You ask me?
Is this why you brought me over here? Is this what you promised?”
“I didn’t promise anything. I just said the
Prince wanted a jeweler. I had no idea what would happen next.”
“You say this,
you little Satan? Why don’t you rather say that you knew but you wished I
hadn’t come with you? Why don’t you say that you were envious of me? Why don’t
you say that you are selfish? Do you think you can hide your envy? I can see it
on your face! Listen, I’m finished with you! Never, never, never call me again!
Farewell!”
Tahar spent that night in the open. The
next morning found him eating a big cake in the funduq eating-room. He was sad,
but two men sitting beside him were happy-go-lucky.
“I said you’re
lucky,” one of the two said, sinking his teeth into a steak.
“You too!”
replied the other, taking a sip of tea.
“But your wife
has got a beautiful face!”
“That’s beyond
argument, but yours has got good legs, hasn’t she?”
“Yes, but I
would much rather have a wife with a beautiful face than one with good legs!”
“Alright!
Let’s meet all four of us at the butcher’s tonight, then!”
“What for?”
“Well, the
butcher will take off my wife’s face and give it to you and he’ll take off your
wife’s legs and give them to me!”
Tahar could not help laughing, but that was not enough
to make him happy. He went into his room and played on his utar, but he only
grew sadder and sadder. He went to mosque at noon and read the Koran, but that
did not do him any good either. “What the heck I’m doing here?” he thought on
his return to his room in the funduq.
And yet he stayed in Mogador until
Smaïl came three days later and asked him to dinner.
“I really
don’t know,” said Smaïl uncomfortably. “I don’t think anybody knows. All I know
is that the Prince has now moved on south of Mogador. I have no idea when he’ll
be back. But help yourself! You’re welcome!”
“Honestly,”
said Tahar, “I’m fond of treed. I just can’t resist the tantalizing smell of
onion and fenugreek and lentil. I would have waded into this meal even in the
presence of the Prince. But now I’m off my oats. I’m sorry to say so. My heart
jumped at the sight of this flower vase. I like flowers like these. But now I
have no appetite. I’m going to eat just to please you.”
“I’m not going
to blame you, Tahar,” said Smaïl, chewing.
And after a bit he stopped eating, and said, “Adversity is hard. To me, patience is a mystery. I have read
books and thought years and years and I am still very vague about this thing we
call patience. Why does one endure pain where another would burst a blood
vessel? Why should one be patient in the first place? Is it because he wants to
get something good either in this life or in the Beyond or in both? Or just
because he wants to get on with his life in the most ordinary fashion?
Personally, I was patient in times harder that you could imagine. But then
there were times when I just fell in the abyss of despair, like you now.” Tahar
suddenly began to eat heartily as Smaïl went on speaking like a teacher at
school, “Man is weak, you know. To tell you the truth, the more I realize that
the more I find myself prone to violence. I am not a violent person, but I just
can’t stand being provoked. I can hold my own with anybody, but I don’t want to
show that off. I hate sham. I don’t want to preen myself on anything. But it’s
not easy to be humble, you know. I’ll tell you something. As we speak there’s
someone or other somewhere or other praying God in a mosque or in a synagogue
or in a church or at his own home. Different people worshipping the same God in
different languages. Whenever I realize that, I feel how small I am. I feel
that however beautiful I may be, however strong, however endowed with brains, I
would still remain one and only one person; that means I would still need
others. I can’t live without you just as you can’t live without me. We need to
love each other, I mean brotherly love. We need to help each other. We need to
respect each other. And should we lose our temper and come to blows we
shouldn’t yet go so far as to kill each other. I am telling you this because I
went through what you are going through now. I feel that you have your head
crammed with big dreams, and if –God forbid! – anyone stood in your way you
could go so far as to kill him!”
“Me?”
“Yes, you!”
Tahar left Smaïl’s home livened up. He
smiled as the night breeze fondled his face. He visualized Zahiya’s blue eyes.
He wished she were with him there, strolling along, going from alley to alley,
smelling the Thuya lingering around the closed wood workshops, inhaling the
salty spray from the dark sea, and sniffing the curious odour of the unseen
fish from the nearby sleeping port.
But when he returned to his room in the
funduq he found himself alone again, except for the utar. He picked it up and
played on it until an old man from the room next door pleaded with him to let
him sleep in peace.
